Passive Me, Agressive You
by FanSlewFantasy
Summary: A very short fic. Spamano, experimental, Psychological, yaoi. Yandere!Spain is yandere, and Lovi is Lovi, and it's hard to tell, who is the one in charge between them. A bit touchy maybe?


**~PASSIVE ME, AGGRESSIVE YOU~  
><strong>A Hetalia Axis Powers Fanfiction * Presented by FanSlewFantasy 2011_  
>SpainxRomano *<em>**R18***  
>ORAL~PSYCHOLOGICAL~SELF HARM~YANDERE!SPAIN<p>

…

_So I read today in the hetalia section of TVtropes (because that's what all the cool kids do in biology class…) that spain was originally supposed to be a YAND__ERE character. Wtf right? Of all the closet yanderes in the world I NEVER would have thought SPAIN…_

_Actually, the more I think about it the more sense it makes…_

_But anyway, boot up the brain-__bot, here, have a really short sketchy fic, jada. Love._

…

Romano threw the bowl of soup at me, the hard ceramic edge knocking my brow bone and sending me backward, dizzy.

"You know I hate garlic in my soup, Bastard!"

I missed him stomp from the room, through the curtain of tomato-soup and blood that was seeping into my eye, and pressed my palm to my left eyebrow, sucking my teeth. He's become a lot stronger, lately. A few years ago that bowl of soup wouldn't even have reached me on the other side of the room and now…

Well, I was a little bit concerned. I wondered if he realised that now he was as big as I was, and just as strong, he couldn't keep treating me this way. It hadn't mattered once, a few light headbutts had done nothing, but now, having all manner of items thrown at me (not to mention how often he slapped me) and telling Francis whenever we met up that I had 'tripped over the stairs' in order to explain the bandaged wrist or limp, was becoming rather a bother.

Still a little woozy from having crockery thrown at my head, I bent down to pick up the broken pieces, and hobbled into the kitchen, to chuck them away. The kitchen was spotless, I had made it so before announcing dinner was ready, and so rather than just grab the cloth that should have been behind the sink I had to go and fetch a clean one from the laundry linen cupboard to clean up the spillage, all over the floor.

"Hurry up, for Gods sake! The movie starts soon!" his voice echoed through the house from the lounge and I gritted my teeth, pulling a rag from the bottom of the pile on the top shelf and slamming the cupboard door.

"I'm coming, Roma. Just let me clean up the mess and mop myself up, okay?" my head was starting to throb.

I took my time cleaning the mess, and took my time tidying myself up too. What could (should) have been a quick 'upstairs-change-bandaid-downstairs' became a gruelling decision between the yellow crew or the mint v-neck, and after going with actually, the white wifebeater, I edged into the bathroom to tidy my face, and check the damage.

It wasn't too bad.

The plate had cut about an inch above my eyebrow, and a small not very visible bruise became apparent once I had rubbed away the crusting brown-ish blood from the area with his white face cloth. It didn't really show up so much, next to my skin tone, so I jabbed it a little, seeing if I could make it worse. I managed to work a fresh trickle of blood from the sealing gash, but that was about it. So I began scratching the semi hard scab off, and despite the aching protest my body was giving up rubbed the area harshly beneath two fingers in an attempt to draw a slightly darker colour.

It took me a moment to realise what I was doing and stop, dropping the facecloth into the sink with a wet plop and staring at my bloody fingers in horror.

_What the hell Antonio?_ I glanced at the mirror, and saw my own astonished face peering back at me with wide green eyes. _Cut that out! He can't help it. You know him, and he only does it…_

"… Because he doesn't know how to say he loves me." I finished the thought under my breath, turning on the tap to wash my fingers and wetting the wash cloth anew. "He's always been like that, shy and flighty. Now he's a little bigger he can't help it." I resumed cleaning up the fresh trails of blood across my brow and snaking sneakily down the side of my nose as if I wouldn't notice. "I just have to be kind, and he will open up again. As always." This thought made me smile, and finishing up I set the cloth on the edge of the sink, ready to be washed in the morning.

"ANTONIO! HURRY UPPPPPP!"

"Coming Roma!" I ruffled my hair in the mirror and noticed that actually the bruise had darkened quite a bit already, before ducking from the room and making my way downstairs. "Did you want popcorn?" I asked him when I reached the bottom of the stairs, poking my head into the sitting room and grinning at him, sprawled comfortably on the couch. He was so pretty! Small and scantily clad and sweet. A lot like the Lovino I used to know, he looked nothing like he could have thrown a plate at me. At all.

"If you want to." He said, glancing at me briefly through large, crystal green eyes. "I don't m-oh my. Shit, Spain, did I do that?"

"Do what?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"That. On your head."

"Oh this?" I pointed to the gash and crinkled my nose. "Oh yeah, but its no big deal. So hey? Popcorn?"

"I uh…" his cheeks coloured, and he sat up straight in his seat. "No, its fine. Come sit down and we can see-"

"Don't be dumb Roma, I will go fix us some popcorn." I waved my hand dismissively, grinning, "Seeing as you didn't like the soup."

I turned my back on his protests, and hopped to the kitchen to fix him a hot, corny treat.

Sometimes I found myself taking pleasure in things like this, not making Lovi _guilty_ per se… but maybe pushing him a little, to see if he would say sorry.

Because if he really loved me he would say sorry right? _Right?_

The popcorn was in a jar in the pantry, I set it all up and put it in the nifty little machine to cook it. It only took three minutes, just long enough to organise a salt-and-sugar kettle corn flavouring, with a bit of cinnamon in for fun, and easy as pie I had it in a bowl with a sprinkle of flavour set to go. I reached past to turn off the popcorn machine, and noticed with a start as my wrist brushed the metal pot at the base that it was still hot. Cautious, I moved the nearby tea towel aside to avoid any fires that might break out.

And then I hesitated, taking a moment to glance fugitively toward the door. He was still in the lounge, I was sure, the blare of 'bob esponja' was barely muffled by the rooms and walls between us. I chewed my lip, that same strange feeling of curiosity and astonishment overtaking me, and pressed my hand firmly against the back of the machine.

It burnt like a bitch. I hissed and yanked it back away. The skin surface where it had touched was raw and stung painfully. Once again, I was shocked my behaviour.

"'Tonio, it's starting."

"Ah, right." Flushed a little in embarrassment, I wrapped my hand in a damp square of the handee-towel and grabbed the popcorn on the bench. "Coming, coming…" I hurried through the rooms back to where he was sitting an edged past the coffee table, to sit down. "Which one is it? Atlantis Squarepantis or-"

"It's the movie." He grumbled, eyes downcast. "I told you, you really didn't have to make popcorn…"

"Well I did. Don't you want to eat it?" I sulked, shoulders slumping, and cradled my sore hand in my lap. "After I went through all the effort to make it for you?"

"No, no I'll eat it, goddamnit. I will eat it." Purposefully not looking at me, he leant forward and grabbed a good handful of popcorn, "Geeze… bastard."

I smirked a little and settled back on the couch.

We were halfway through the movie and the popcorn was long gone when he lifted his legs from the ground and laid them over my lap. My heart leapt, and I dropped my not burned hand (why the _fuck_ had I done that? I still couldn't figure it out,) to his ankle and stroked. He peeked downward…

"'Tonio what happened to your hand?"

"Huh?" I looked to my fingers on his bony ankle, his long tanned legs stretched beyond my thighs and up to the leg holes of his neat black shorts. "What hand?"

"That hand. The one with the handee-towel on."

"Oh, this." I frowned at it, trying to figure out how to explain…

"Was that…" he leaned forward and lift the corner of the paper towel. "It's a burn."

"Um, yeah." That much was obvious. A raw red threatening to blister patch the size of a small cellphone had become painfully obvious on the back of my hand. It didn't really sting so much now, more kind of throbbing hotly, but it was still slightly uncomfortable. "It was um… the soup?" I lied quickly, the first thing that came to my head. "When the soup splattered my hand it burned here."

Lovino hissed, and dropped the corner of the towel.

"Oh god… really?"

I nodded, licking my lip and tilting my head a little, bringing the cut surreptitiously to his attention.

"It's okay, it doesn't hurt." Though it very much clearly did. Lovino was not as stupid as to fall for that. "Are we watching the movie or what?"

"Bastrad, it obviously does!" he sniffed and shuffled forward, to peer at my forehead. "Shiit… that cut is huge."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not fine." The expression on his face was sick and upset, conflicted. Between frustration and embarrassment, he laced his fingers shyly through my own. "I… I didn't mean…"

"You didn't mean to burn me?" I arched an eyebrow and he bowed his head, in a shameful nod.

"Why did you just let me? You should say, but instead you just sat there…"

"And let you hurt me?"

He winced, and I smiled, pleased with myself.

"It's okay Lovi, so long as you apologise… I'm not like other guys." I pecked the crown of his head affectionately, squeezing my good hand on his ankle and bringing it sneakily up his calf. "I won't get mad if you hurt me, so long as you apologise. Isn't that good of me?"

* * *

><p>"Ohhh… yeah, Roma. Mmm… Roma…." I shifted in my seat, combing my hand through his hair and pulling a little, guiding him back upward to suck the head of my dick. "That's good. Use your tongue a little more."<p>

He popped up, and pulled a face that made me feel perversely powerful, before bowing again and resuming licking, running his tongue over the very tip and pushing my foreskin up and down across the back.

Romano _hated_ giving blowjobs.

It was one of the first things he told me, when we first became lovers. He hated giving blowjobs and he hated being on top. Apparently, it made him feel like a whore.

Unfortunately for him, I positively loved it.

I don't know why, but I always feel so adored and wanted when he sucked my dick. Knowing that he despised it, but did it anyway… it more than made up for the plate throwing and slapping. He had a hot mouth, and perfect cushiony lips, and a lifetime of eating tomatoes in that way he did, nibbling a hole and then sucking out the seeds, gave him amazing technique. He was beautiful, perfect, like my own little slut, and even though afterwards he would get distant and ashamed, he did it with the heavy conviction of a man who was genuinely regretful, and would only do it for me.

Only me.

God help him if he ever did it to someone else.

His tongue flirted wetly with the back, trailing upward, his lips kissing the crown before hovering their way back down.

"don't forget to suck- good boy~" I tipped my head back and trailed off, eyes fluttering closed in contentment when I felt that apparently psychic, wet pink tongue trail over my right testicle, and pop it easily into his mouth. He grunted something, fingers clawing on my thigh, and rolled it around as best he could in his mouth.

"It's good Lovi." I told him, coiling my finger in his little curl of hair. "See if you can get the whole thing down your throat."

This idea obviously didn't sit right with him, because he popped off almost immediately and stared at me, horrified, with disbelieving, disgusted eyes.

"Are you serious?"

I shrugged carelessly, a little ticked he had forsaken my pleasure just like that, and rubbed my nose with my burned hand to flash him the plasticy red mark again. "Well if you don't want to… it's just, I thought… you wouldn't do this for Francis either, would you?"

His face took on the most utterly incredulous expression ever, face glowing with the cheerful tomato red of humiliation.

"What kind of question is that?"

"Well it's just, you love me right? Cause I was such a great boss to you… so why would you want to treat me in the same way you treat France?"

"I do not treat you in the same-" He cut off, staring at me in disbelief. I shrugged again, and cast my eyes away sadly.

"Don't worry about it then. Carry on…"

I loosed my finger from his haircurl, feeling his hand around the base of my erection clench, and tucked a lock of my own dark hair behind my ear.

"Why are you such a bastard?" he hissed softly, before grabbing my length firmly, and taking it again, down the back of his mouth. My back arched, feeling the head scrape over his palette, his tongue running languidly across the underside and licking its way along to the base.

"Oh god Lovino…" I took his curl back again, spinning and twining it around my fingers much to his frustrated delight. "Yes… oh God you can get it all the way in there, comeon…"

His teeth grated my cock, and I wondered if perhaps it was a warning, but no because he hesitated, swallowing, obviously having trouble getting it right the way down. God it felt good…. Better than good. It was like sinking into an endless, warm void of bliss, his lips butterflying, the quiver of muscles clenching as he chocked the last inch or so down. His clever hands ran up the insides of my thighs, nails scraping gently across my skin, and I groaned deeply, giving his hair a pull as invitation to let him move back up. He was excited to do this apparently, sliding off and having only a split second to be shocked when I forced his head back down again, sheathing myself in his throat. His shout vibrated deliciously, and I was more than happy to release him afterward, feeling pretty damn great about it.

"What the fuck?" he was coughing and spluttering on the way up. I smiled, and tapped the end of his nose.

"You're so good Roma… I couldn't help myself."

"That hurt!"

"It hurt?"

"Yes! It hurt!"

"Hurt like having a plate thrown at your head? Or having soup burn you all up on your hand?"

He hesitated, strange emotions flickering in his eyes. Guilt, frustration, hurt.

"It's okay, Lovi. I forgive you. I'm not like France or Prussia or England." My fingers stroked reverently through his soft, fragrant hair. "So it's okay, if you love me."

…

_And again, thanks to titoes, who beta'd. _

_I hope this quick fic was alright. It seems a little hurried to me, but I didn't want to pad it out too much, in case the point got lost amongst it. Call it an experiment,if you will. xD. Please leave a review, and tell me what you think! (HINT: the sex was NOT the focal point of this short story…)_


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